Today I was going to post a picture of my first six inches of real knitting. The first six inches of a scarf, in fact, purple with a lighter purple stripe and I actually had the stripe.
These six inches of wool represent three solid days of staring until I am cross-eyed, of trying and unravelling and trying and unravelling and looking at books and buying different needles and trying again.
Despite my luxurious new sheets (Overstock was having a sale) and my soft warm blanket and the fact that my bed is now a cocoon of heavenly refuge against the bitter bitter cold gray winter, I have stayed up late, til all hours, knitting and knitting and unravelling and knitting and knitting.
Last night, as I listened to Studio 60 and stared intensely at my needles, Callie, frustrated and furious with the loss of her rightful place in my lap and fed up with the tantalizing twitch, twitch of the yarn, leapt up onto the couch and tore into my skein of purple yarn, pulling and biting at the thread that ran up to my scarf work. A scuffle ensued, and when I finally removed her claws from my thigh and surveyed the damage, I realized that my knit work was so tangled, pulled out of shape, with loops slipped out and yarn too tight, that it was beyond my almost non-existent repair skills.
I spent the rest of the night unravelling my scarf, leaving me with roughly NO completed knitting to show for three straight days of practice, and wondering why on earth I took up a hobby so clearly incompatible with my family reponsibilities (i.e., sole source of feline entertainment).
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1 comment:
knitting and cats do not mix, but cats CAN be taught to leave well enough alone. I suspect the teaching process will take as long as your learning process. Good luck!
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